


Barter

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 18:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20856470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Gladio’s first bite.





	Barter

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This idea again.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They’re both slick with sweat by the end of their workout session, but only Ignis is breathing hard. Gladiolus does feel the burn—he did have to work _hard_, as only Ignis can make him do, but his stamina is simply superior. And his lungs don’t need filling up. Half his sweat’s there for a different reason than exercise—working out with Ignis always works up a different appetite.

The two of them are alone in the changing rooms when they’re done. Gladiolus is deliberately slow changing into new pants and a loose tank, forgoing a shower until he can have a proper one at home. Ignis strips down to a brown tank top but stops there, his towel still draped around his shoulders. He’s at his locker for a considerable time, not doing anything in particular, and then Gladiolus grabs his bag and moves to go.

Ignis finally walks over to him. Gladiolus can tell it’s something important by the way Ignis averts his eyes and hesitates. Dropping his bag on the bench, Gladiolus steps closer and asks, “What?”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Ignis murmurs. He doesn’t specify it, but Gladiolus can tell he means: _alone_.

They’re alone right now. And Gladiolus has a few minutes to spare—he _always_ has time for Ignis. Especially when Ignis is underdressed, his pale skin glistening and his hair naturally mussed across his forehead. He’s a beautiful creature in any light, but Gladiolus likes him best like this: raw and open, without the formality of cologne, fitted jackets, and hair gel. Ignis sucks in a breath and finally says, “It’s regarding the blood contract between your family and Noct’s.”

Gladiolus stiffens. He doesn’t want to talk about that. _Especially_ with Ignis. He knows exactly how much Ignis cares for Noctis, no matter how bratty their teenage charge can be, and of course he won’t like what Gladiolus has to do. But Gladiolus really _has_ to do it. He’s entitled to feed off his prince when the thirst gets to be too much—isolated packets will only sustain him for so long. He’s supposed to dedicate his entire life to Noctis, protect him from all harm, die for him if necessary, and in exchange, Gladiolus will get as much blood as he wants. It’s supposed to strengthen their bond. It just makes Gladiolus sick to think about.

He didn’t know Ignis knew. It’s hardly spoken of around the Citadel. But of course Ignis would find out. Ignis knows everything. Gladiolus waits to be told that he’s a monster—that he should let himself whither away and leave their poor prince be.

But Ignis whispers, so quietly that Gladiolus wouldn’t hear it without his superior senses, “Please, take me instead.”

Gladiolus’ mouth goes dry. He can barely manage, “What?”

With a shaken breath, Ignis finally lifts his gaze. It’s burning, full of resolve. He implores, “Noct is still too young, and he has enough burdens. I understand that soon your hunger will make you more of a liability than an asset, but Noctis can’t handle this yet. _I_ can. At least I’m an adult. I can make that decision. And I’m reasonably in shape and healthy; I can handle it.”

Gladiolus swallows. His canines itch, trying to extend out into _fangs_, ready for the kill—his body’s heard the offer and it wants to indulge. His fingers are tingling, crying to dart out and pin his prey against the wall of lockers. But it’s _Ignis_. He holds himself back. He rasps, “I won’t.”

“Why not?” Ignis looks so serious, eyes pleading. Clearly this matters to him; he’s put some thought into it, and rejection makes him antsy. Another step and his shoe is nudging against Gladiolus’. “Will my blood not suffice?”

Of course it will. He probably tastes _delicious_. Gladiolus would pay anything for it. He insists, “I couldn’t hurt you...”

“But you could hurt Noct?” Anger flitters over Ignis’ face. Gladiolus shakes his head.

“I don’t _want_ to hurt either of you, but it’s tradition...”

“It’s tradition for a vampire to accept a willing sacrifice,” Ignis cuts in. He tilts his chin back, tossing the towel to the ground, and the simple gesture speaks volumes to Gladiolus: Ignis is exposing his throat for the taking. He even tugs his collar wider, pushing the strap of his top down one arm, revealing more flushed skin for Gladiolus to salivate over. Ignis practically begs, “Please, Gladio. _Take me instead._”

He knows he shouldn’t. His father would kill him. The _king_ would kill him. Gladiolus opens his mouth to protest, but the words die on his tongue. Ignis is so beautiful, his pleas irresistible. Gladiolus has been jerking off to him for years. Every time they spar, Gladiolus fantasizes about throwing him to the floor and biting in so deep that his screams make the whole Crownsguard come running. 

Gladiolus still means to say no, but his lust blinds him, and the next thing he knows, he’s bearing over Ignis with his fangs fully unleashed. He sinks down into Ignis’ throat with a sickening crunch. Blood swells up to meet him. It bubbles around his teeth, coating his lips. Ignis gasps, voice hitching, then breaking, his cries coming out hoarse. His hands fly to Gladiolus’ shoulders and cling so hard that Gladiolus feels bruises forming. 

They’ll heal in an instant. Gladiolus is nearly indestructible. But Ignis is a fragile doll in his arms that he pulls closer and cradles, worshipping as he uses it all up. He takes one shuddering gulp after another, swallowing down the creamy flow of Ignis’ very essence. Ignis trembles desperately against him. It’s all Gladiolus can do not to drink him dry. Ignis is _so_ much better than refrigerated donour packs. Ignis is _everything_.

Gladiolus loves him for it. Gladiolus hates to hurt him. So when Ignis rasps out a broken, “G... _Gladio_...” Gladiolus freezes.

He swallows the juicy remnants already on his tongue. Then he wrenches out, wincing at Ignis’ sobbing cry. There’s a little bit of blood spatter that Gladiolus hurriedly licks up. The wounded flesh responds to his saliva and tries to knit back together.

As soon as Gladiolus loosens his grip, Ignis wilts. He doesn’t seem to have the strength to stand up on his own. He slumps to the floor, Gladiolus catching him before he hits it. Ignis spasms almost violently, then stills. He drops his head to Gladiolus’ chest and pants for air. 

Gladiolus says, “I’m sorry... Ignis, I’m... I’m so sorry...”

Ignis shakes his head, mumbling, “No, I...” he gulps, then continues, “_Thank you._”

Gladiolus feels terrible. But he also feels incredibly satisfied, sated beyond his dreams—better than he ever has. Now that he’s had blood straight from the source, he doesn’t know if he can ever go back. 

Obviously, Ignis is in no state to drive. Gladiolus wants to offer a lift, but he’s worried Ignis would rather call a taxi—be rid of him immediately and never want to see him again. He couldn’t imagine Ignis _not_ being afraid of him now.

But Ignis has always been stronger than Gladiolus gives him credit for. He breathes against Gladiolus’ chest, “Please... take me home.”

Gladiolus says, “Okay.” He carefully picks Ignis up in his arms, carrying him off with the protective ferocity of a boyfriend deeply in love.


End file.
